


pas de deux (a step for two)

by shiromantic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiromantic/pseuds/shiromantic
Summary: Sylvain entertains the idea of watching Felix leave. Watching him walk away is agonizingly familiar. This isn’t the first time he’s said something nauseating and had his conversation partner  storm off. It could be worse — usually, he gets a drink thrown at him.Maybe it’s time to make something of his miserable life. Who knows, it might even be fun.Felix and Sylvain are dance instructors who must work together to create the best Christmas show, or the theatre will be closed down for good.Sylvain quickly learns that working with Felix Hugo Fraldarius is somehow harder than trying to save a dying community theatre with the power of dance.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 57
Collections: Sylvix Advent Calendar





	pas de deux (a step for two)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my entry for the [SylvixAdventCalendar](https://twitter.com/SylvixCalendar) event! thank you cha for inviting me to write for this fun event. please check out all the lovely works if you can! shout-out to my beta, [euphemea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea), for helping me with this fic. 
> 
> here are some additional information about the tags (also containing spoilers for the fic): 
> 
> 1) implied/referenced character death - the character death is glenn. this is brief and only mentioned once throughout the fic. there is no description for how the character died, and it happened before the events of the fic. 
> 
> 2) implied/referenced child abuse - sylvain briefly refers to his past with miklan/his family throughout the fic, but nothing super graphic. 
> 
> 3) alcohol - sylvain is in a bar in the beginning of the fic. he drinks several cocktails, but he doesn't get intoxicated.
> 
> and i think that's it! i hope you enjoy this silly little fic.

Sylvain has been chasing warmth his whole life, and he doesn’t know why.

Maybe it’s because he was born in a cold country, with winters that freeze through his shoes and socks. Perhaps it’s because his childhood home was never warm; his parents didn’t know how to stoke a fire, only knew how to burn.

It might be because at ten years old, he was buried alive in the snow. His whole life has been a dream, and his body is waiting to be found in that blizzard.

Whatever the reason, it’s why he craves the warmth of the bright stage lights on his face before the music starts. The blinding light makes him feel like he’s been given a second chance that he doesn’t deserve.

It’s all artificial, he knows, but it’s too late for someone like him to deserve anything good.

-

November 1st falls on a Tuesday, and the bar is as busy as expected. He’s in the part of the city where every building is steel and glass. The bar’s occupants are relaxing after returning from cubicles and paperwork. When Sylvain sees their black oxfords and dress pants, it reminds him of the life he was supposed to live.

A woman with short, blonde hair sitting alone at the bar catches Sylvain’s eye. Her attention is focused on the phone in her hand, and she only looks up occasionally to survey the bar before looking back down at her phone again.

With a grin, he comes up behind her and places a hand on her shoulder. She immediately flinches. He coos, “Come around here often?”

She half-turns towards Sylvain, her fists already clenched tight, but she relaxes as she recognizes him. With a sigh that’s filled with relief and exasperation, Ingrid says, “Jesus Christ, Sylvain. You have to stop doing that. I might actually punch out your teeth next time.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, sliding onto the bar stool. He motions to the bartender for a cocktail. “What’re you doing here anyway?”

“Uh, I’m just waiting for someone,” Ingrid replies. A loud vibration cuts through the air, and Ingrid hastily looks at her phone. Near them, someone answers “Hello?”, and she shoves it back into her pocket, disappointed. “So, you don’t have to stay with me.”

“Ingrid letting me go without even a doting remark?” he gasps. “It’s like you don’t even care about my well-being anymore.”

She rolls her eyes. It was quite a surprise to find Ingrid here of all places. Sylvain thought that Ingrid only came to these bars to pick him up when he couldn’t walk anymore. When he looks closer, he can see her lips glisten a warm pink.

_Oh, so that’s what this is about._

Sylvain grins. “Who’s the girl, then?”

“None of your business, Gautier,” she deflects. Sylvain’s grin widens, and he watches Ingrid puff up with annoyance. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Can’t I hang out with my best girl?” Sylvain bats his eyelashes rapidly and leans in closer. Ingrid lightly shoves him away. He laughs and adds, “I want to protect the men from your right hook.”

“Okay, twinkle-toes,” she snorts. “I’m sure you’re learning great self-defense techniques at your workplace.”

“You underestimate my kids. They’re tiny, but fierce.”

Ingrid laughs. “I’m sure they are. How was the Halloween show last night, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” he replies. On cue, the bartender places his cocktail in front of him, and he takes a long sip from it. “There were at least twenty people in the audience. We got a two-person standing ovation for Thriller.”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “Does that still count?”

“Sure it does,” he shrugs.

“Got any plans for a Christmas show?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Are you asking for an encore from Sexy Elf Sylvain?”

Ingrid makes a face. “God, no. No one wants an encore of that.”

“You were the one who didn’t want to hire a stripper for Dimitri’s 24th birthday.”

She ignores him. “You said if the Halloween show went well, you would do a Christmas show with the kids.”

“You know, Ingrid – I never liked Christmas,” he deflects. “Whose idea was it to come up with a holiday that involved family and religion? It’s a nightmare for my mental health.”

“You’re avoiding the subject,” she says. “What happened? Did your father’s secretary try calling you again?”

“No, I blocked her number a year ago, ’grid.”

If Ingrid hears the lie, she says nothing. Sylvain contemplates on staying quiet because Ingrid won’t pry and she’ll steer the conversation towards something else. She’s a good friend; Sylvain broke down in her arms more than once, and she held him through it each time.

“The theatre is closing down in January,” he says. His heart sank to hear it spoken aloud. “One of the donors decided to stop investing in the community, and we lost ten thousand dollars.”

“Oh, Sylvain,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

He takes another sip from his cocktail. “Do you think my dad will lend me the money?”

“Maybe,” Ingrid replies. They sit with that truth for a moment – and they come to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth it in the long run for Sylvain. She then asks, “How will you tell the kids?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “How do you feel about powerpoint slides?”

Ingrid hums. “I can’t say that I’m a fan. Have you thought of making cards?”

“I do appreciate the fine arts,” he says. “This could be my opportunity to try a new career path. Don’t you think I’d look good in nothing but a painter’s smock?”

Once again, she ignores his statement. “There has to be more places for a dance instructor. I think Dimitri’s college hosts dance classes every Friday.”

Sylvain doesn’t think he can handle teaching Dimitri and Dedue’s weekly Zumba classes, but at this point, he’s going to have to make some personal sacrifices. God, this wasn’t the plan – the reason he came here was to forget that he even had a problem in the first place. His cocktail is unpleasantly warm.

“You should go,” he mutters. “Your date is waiting for you.”

Ingrid bites her lip before nodding. “...Okay.”

She slides off the bar-stool and shoves her hands into her pockets. He watches her walk away, but she stops and turns back around. Ingrid opens her mouth, closes it, and then quietly says, “You’re going to be okay, Sylvain.”

He laughs. “I’m always okay.”

“I know,” she replies. “Just — call me if you need a ride home.”

And then she’s gone.

Sylvain slouches heavily onto the counter-top, and lets his eyes wander across the bar. His gaze lands on a group of women pretending not to gawk at him. He gives a little wave, and they giggle. He instinctively straightens up and tries his best to flash a smile, but it feels even more artificial than usual. He used to be better at this sort of thing, back before he found something that made him actually happy.

After two more cocktails, and even more sulking, his phone chimes in his back pocket. Maybe it’s Ingrid asking if he needs a ride still. Instead, he sees a contact that has only texted him twice this year, both times to tell Sylvain to stop messaging him so much.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius [8:34pm]: We need to talk.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius [8:34pm]: Meet me at the McDonalds across the street from the theatre. Tomorrow at 8am.

-

“Got you fries.”

Felix Hugo Fraldarius stares at the fries with enough disdain to set them on fire. “You put ketchup on them,” he replies.

“Yes, Felix,” Sylvain says, sliding into the booth across from him. McDonalds is crowded with high school students who should be in class and office workers who want to get away from the high school students. “That’s what you do with fries.”

_“I hate ketchup.”_

“I didn’t put ketchup on all of them.” He picks out a bare french fry to prove it. “Here, I’ll pick out the ketchup-less fries for you – ”

“Just give it,” Felix snaps, and grabs it from across the table.

Sylvain holds his hands up, and takes a sip from the large Diet Coke he ordered for himself. He watches Felix glare at the ketchup fries as though they’ve personally offended him. He looks different like this — in his dark hoodie and jeans instead of his dance tights. The dark circles underneath his eyes contrast his alabaster skin.

It’s not a bad look, he thinks. It might even be good.

“They’re closing down the theatre,” Felix grumbles.

“Yeah.”

Felix angrily bites into a fry. “I think it’s bullshit.”

Sylvain leans back into the booth with a sigh and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you think they’re going to replace the theatre with? Another health bar?”

“They’d have to drag my body out of the theatre,” Felix mutters.

They both go quiet. Sylvain envisions Felix engaging in combat with five men as they try to force him out of the dance studio. Imaginary Felix is really putting up a fight. Sylvain’s impressed.

Felix speaks up again. “We still have until January to raise the money.”

“We?” Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “What happened to ‘ballet is not on the same level as open style choreography’?”

“I’m not so stupid as to do this by myself.” Felix frowns. “I still haven’t changed my mind.”

“Right, right,” Sylvain says, stealing a fry from Felix. “So, you’re suggesting we team up then? Find a Sugar Daddy who’ll take the both of us?”

Felix huffs. He places his hands on the table, but pauses for a moment. Sylvain watches him - and he can only guess Felix is wondering how to dramatically leave the table. He ends up shimmying out angrily and spits out, “Just forget it.”

Sylvain entertains the idea of watching Felix leave. Watching him walk away is agonizingly familiar. This isn’t the first time he’s said something nauseating and had his conversation partner storm off. It could be worse — usually, he gets a drink thrown at him.

Maybe it’s time to make something of his miserable life. Who knows, it might even be fun.

“Hey, wait,” Sylvain calls out. Felix pauses with the door half-open, and the late autumn air floods into the restaurant.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t want the theatre to die either, okay? It’s all I have too, you know.”

Felix opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by someone yelling at him to close the door. He returns and sits, crossing his arms.

“Let’s start over,” Sylvain says. “Ten thousand dollars.”

Felix nods.

“We can — I don’t know,” Sylvain runs a hand through his hair, “start a donation page or something. Do fundraising with the kids. It’s not impossible, but it’s going to take some divine intervention and I haven’t been to church in a while.”

Felix shrugs and twirls a fry. “Whatever. We don’t need help from God, or whatever is up there, anyway.”

Sylvain lets out a bark of laughter.

“I think we should do a show,” Felix proposes. “A charity show for Christmas.”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “The Halloween show barely got us fifty dollars. How is a Christmas show going to get us ten thousand?”

Felix shrugs. “No one gives a shit about Halloween.”

Sylvain opens his mouth to protest, but Felix quickly adds, “People love Christmas – they love a Christmas miracle even more. It’s the season of giving, sharing, and other sappy shit like that.”

“Okay,” he concedes. He’s not going to argue about the power of a Hallmark Happy Ending. “You’re forgetting that the Christmas show is still only for one night. Even if it’s the best show possible, there’s no way we can still raise all that money in one night.”

“We’ll do the other stuff you mentioned. Fundraising, and shit.”

Sylvain hums. “You really think this will work, huh?”

“If the theatre gets torn down, it gets torn down,” Felix grunts. “I’m just not letting that old man take me down without a fight.”

 _This has to be the worst resistance movie ever_ , Sylvain thinks. No one wants to root for the two dance instructors in a McDonalds. They don’t even have a sexy love triangle to make things interesting during the rising conflict.

He watches Felix, weighing his options. He’s done worse than saying yes to dreams and a sharp tongue.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m in.”

Felix smiles. It helps Sylvain believe that this plan is worth something. “Come to the studio tomorrow at 8am. We’ll discuss choreography then.”

-

The problem with the studio at the community theatre is that it isn’t a studio at all. It’s an old classroom that’s been stripped of its desks and chairs. It’s little more than mirrors with flooring, and the kids risk concussions if they slip during one of the dance numbers.

Sylvain walks in a little late with a coffee in hand and a little notebook tucked in the crook of his armpit. He was up late coming up with potential themes and songs for the show. Despite the looming dread, he found himself getting increasingly invested as the night wore on.

He peeks into the studio, expecting Felix, but is instead greeted with — well, _Felix_ but in an actually good mood.

Felix is facing away, towards the mirrors — decrepit old things, 30 years old at least, and always a little dusty — with a leg propped up on the ballet bar. He’s bent over his leg, forehead to knee, as though to show off his flexibility.

It’s impressive and beautiful, and Sylvain’s staring is getting creepier by the second. Sylvain forces himself to break the silence, and he chokes out a garbled noise. Very smooth.

Felix snaps out of his trance and stares at Sylvain, still standing in the doorway like a clown.

Sylvain coughs and pulls out his tiny notebook. “I’ve got...some Christmas show ideas?”

Felix’s brows furrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You know,” Sylvain says, nudging the door closed with his foot. “Operation: Christmas Miracle. Now with 0% Sugar Plum Daddy.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst,” Felix groans, and returns back to his previous position. There’s a tense energy to his shoulders that wasn’t there before. “Anyway, we don’t need to discuss Christmas show ideas. We’re doing The Nutcracker.”

“We are?” he asks.

“Yes. Rich people love The Nutcracker.”

Sylvain can’t argue with that.

“Okaaaay,” he replies, “but it’s like a modern rendition of The Nutcracker, right?”

Felix looks at Sylvain like he’s an idiot.

“Felix,” he sighs. “I want my kids to dance to songs they like.”

“Your Mariah Carey nightmare is going to ruin us,” he scoffs.

“You can’t have Christmas without Miss Carey!” Sylvain insists.

Felix glares mutinously. Sylvain senses that he’s seconds from leaving. They stare at each other, a standoff, until Sylvain sighs.

“Fine!” he concedes. “Just think about it.”

Felix makes a noise that sounds like he definitely will not think about it.

-

Sylvain [8:39pm]: consider this

Felix [8:50pm]: No Nutcracker Carey

Sylvain [8:51pm]: O’ Carey Tree?

Felix [8:52pm]: No

Sylvain [8:52pm]: are you going to let me have any fun, felix???

-

Sylvain [3:40pm]: i love this orchestral rendition of the sugar plum fairy

Felix [3:50pm]: Sylvain I know this is just a YouTube link to the My Neck My Back Christmas Remix

-

Sylvain decides to let the kids rest before he breaks the news to them. They spend the next few sessions practicing their freestyle skills, carefree and relaxed. There’s a distinct difference in atmosphere with the weight of the Halloween show off their shoulders.

On November 7th, he decides to break the news to them. They pull out the foam pieces that don’t really do anything for comfort and gather into a circle. They’re still wearing their jackets because they haven’t done their warm-ups yet.

“So,” he starts. “I’ve got some big news.”

“Are we going to Los Angeles?” They chatter excitedly — being invited to L.A. for a dance competition is every studio kid’s dream. Not that long ago, it was Sylvain’s dream, too.

He shakes his head. “No. Actually, it’s kind of unbelievable.”

“Are you getting married?”

“Even better,” he replies. “The theatre is closing down.”

There’s silence.

“That’s not good news,” one of the eldest students, Jenny says.

“I didn’t say it was good, did I? I just said it was big news.”

“Why?” It’s another student named Trevor who chimes in this time.

 _Why?_ Sylvain doesn’t know how to explain to these kids that the world doesn’t care about anything that doesn't make money, and this theatre does the opposite. So, rather than acknowledge it, he moves on.

“But we still have a chance!” he exclaims. “The theatre can go on if we raise some money. I’m going to need you guys to listen to whatever I say, got it?”

The room goes silent. Sylvain can visibly see the wheels turning in their tiny heads.

“How much money is it?” Another teenager, Michelle, asks without looking up. She’s been idly texting on her phone since she arrived.

Sylvain plasters on his best grin. “Ten thousand dollars.”

“Oh, we’re doomed,” Jenny mutters. Trevor immediately starts crying.

“Hey, hey! Everything’s going to be okay,” he insists. “Felix and I...we’ve got a secret weapon.”

Michelle squints. “What is it?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, now would it?”

He can’t tell the kids about the show yet because he and Felix are still working on — and arguing about — the actual concept. Unfortunately, they can’t seem to agree or compromise on literally anything besides The Nutcracker.

Sylvain claps his hands together, and says, “And on that note, what is everyone’s opinion on selling chocolate?”

-

Sylvain [11:10pm]: hey. i know we’re just coworkers

Sylvain [11:10pm]: but i really want my kids to be able to perform on stage too

Sylvain [12:20am]: so, yeah. idk. just think about it okay?

-

There was a time in Sylvain’s life in which he would wake up on Saturday mornings hungover and next to a warm body . Now, he’s up early to get into a terrible Christmas costume and ask for donations for his dying theatre.

Funny how things change.

At Walmart, the crowd mostly ignores him. They’re astonishingly low on Christmas spirit, but it’s also only November 15th, so he might be asking for a little too much. That doesn’t stop him from ringing his bell obnoxiously.

“Sylvain, is that you?”

He knows that voice. He turns so fast his hat falls off. Sylvain picks it up and shoves it into one of the pockets of his oversized pants.

“Annette! Ashe!” he exclaims. “What brings you here?”

“Uh, this is a Walmart,” Ashe replies.

Sylvain hasn’t seen Ashe in a few weeks, not since his and Annette visited the studio. The first time he arrived, Sylvain wasn’t prepared for the premature reunion with his old Catholic school classmate. Somehow, he was even more unprepared when Ashe said that he was visiting to see Felix of all people.

They’re dressed in their usual clothes — a gray wool coat and blue beanie on Ashe, and a long, teal down coat and cream knit cap on Annette —, clearly here to do some grocery shopping together, along with a reluctant third-party sulking behind them.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Felix sneers. He’s wearing that one dark hoodie again, but paired with old worn gym shorts today. Incredibly casual, but he manages to pull it off.

When Sylvain found it, the costume had been marketed as the “Jolly Red Man”, so it would probably be incorrect to say he was dressed as Santa Claus. “I’m spreading Christmas cheer?” he answers, shrugging.

“I like your beard,” Annette says.

“Did someone spit their gum in here?” Ashe asks. He’s gazing into the sad little jar which, yes, has some gum in it, but also Sylvain’s hard-earned two dollars.

“Listen, I would love to chat, but I think you’re intimidating potential customers.” Sylvain points at all the people giving them a wide berth. Said people all look away immediately as Sylvain waves to them.

“Oh, oh! I think I have money to spare!” Annette exclaims, digging into her tote bag to pull out her peach-shaped wallet.

“Annette! You’re a doll,” he coos. The five dollars Annette drops in his jar triples his earnings.

“Here’s some change.” Ashe digs around in his back pockets and places another five dollars into his hand.

“Ashe! Are you trying to sweep me off my feet?”

Ashe cringes. “Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Ashe and Annette look at Felix. He wilts underneath the scrutiny.

“Ugh. Fine,” he groans. “We’ll do the Nutcracker Carey.”

Sylvain’s eyes widen. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t make me say it again.” Felix frowns. “Also, for God’s sake, at least rent out a Santa costume that fits.”

With that, they say their good-byes. Annette pulls Ashe and Felix away to buy more granola bars and yarn before she has to go to her knitting club. Sylvain watches them go, waving slowly at their backs.

He’s in such a good mood that he doesn’t even stick around for the late afternoon crowd.

-

Despite working in the same theatre for a few years, Sylvain and Felix have never collaborated before. This year’s Halloween show was the first show the theatre has ever hosted, and even that was assembled with only some emails back and forth to decide the show order.

Sylvain stays out of Felix’s way to avoid being scolded for being a distraction. He may be infamous for his persistence, but Sylvain knows how to take a hint. Meanwhile, when it’s Sylvain’s turn to use the studio, Felix flees like a single Missy Elliot verse will set him on fire.

So they have no idea how the other works. In fact, Sylvain doesn’t think he’s seen Felix dance a full eight-count. He’s not sure Felix has ever seen him dance either. With their livelihoods on the line, it’s risky to jump into such a big collab.

Luckily, Sylvain’s never been one for making smart, future-proof choices.

Despite their disagreements in the past, they were able to decide the general plan for their choreography sessions. To avoid collision with regularly scheduled dance classes, they schedule choreography sessions for the show during the weekend. The plan is to keep the sessions contained between 8:00am and 12:00pm, but they’re professional dancers and they know the drill — they’ll stay as late as it takes.

Sylvain can already guess that those four hours will consist of choreography, formation brainstorming, and banter. They’ve already come up with a name and a theme: Operation Nutcracker Carey: Into The Fourth Dimension. The show will take the same two-act structure as the Imperial Ballet’s 1982 Program, complete with all fifteen scenes.

Fifteen dances to choreograph and perfect. Two months. Ten thousand dollars. Again, _the worst resistance movie ever._

Sylvain skips the coffee run to arrive on time to secure his place in Felix’s good graces. Instead, he finds Felix in a foul mood, kicking the old boom-box.

Sylvain can’t help but comment wryly, “You know, I’ve found that the thing works better when you’re not assaulting it.”

Felix looks up. He kicks the boom-box harder. “You’re late.”

“It’s 8:00!” Sylvain exclaims.

“I told you that I wanted to start at 7:30 for warm-ups.”

“Oh,” he says. Warm-ups, otherwise known as exercise that isn’t dance. Sylvain always half-asses those. “I thought you were joking.”

Felix kicks one last time, and the cheap speakers’ crackling smooths to a sad piano rendition of Waltz of the Flowers. “Are you wearing jeans?” he spits out.

Sylvain looks down. He’s wearing his black ones with the artfully ripped knee-holes. He glances back up, sheepish, “I thought we were just working on choreography.”

“You’ve never trained with real dance professionals before, have you?” Felix sneers.

Maybe, he hasn’t – but he doesn’t see how that matters. He doesn’t care if someone has the proper credentials, it’s all about having fun and being free. Sylvain has danced with sad college students and strangers in the dark pockets of night-clubs. Although, he hasn’t exactly danced with anyone quite like Felix before.

“Those jeans are too tight for what we’re doing today,” Felix says firmly.

Sylvain sways his hips side-to-side. “You don’t know what I’ve done in these jeans.”

“Ugh,” he groans. “Let’s just do this.”

-

It was obvious from the start that Felix came from a very different dance background.Now, Sylvain’s certain Felix learned dance on an entirely different planet.

Warm-ups are thirty minutes long. They do cardio, strengthening, core, and a long stretch that makes Sylvain’s thighs shake uncontrollably. They stretch every muscle in their bodies, and he feels the lactic acid burn in muscles Sylvain didn’t know existed. He figures out that the jeans were definitely too tight quickly. Through it all, Felix doesn’t break a sweat. Instead, he seems to gain energy with every agonizing step. Each motion is only a taste, and he keeps getting hungrier.

Sylvain is ready to quit after twenty minutes, but Felix meets his gaze in the mirror and asks, teeth as sharp as diamonds, “Ready to give up yet?” Felix’s entire body glows with energy, burning and bright. Sylvain only manages to reply with a choked noise. Felix laughs.

Sylvain collapses onto the floor as soon as they’re done. The floor is cool against his flushed face.

“Ten minutes,” Felix says, standing up effortlessly out of his perfect split. “Then, we’re continuing.”

Sylvain groans.

He hears the light steps of Felix walking towards him. Sylvain forces himself to crane his head. Above him, the ceiling light forms a halo over Felix’s dark hair as he towers over Sylvain. He radiates triumph, confidence — and wow, Felix looks good when he smiles.

“I’m sorry, Felix,” he sighs. “This is the end of the line for me. Go on without me.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “Ever the dramatic,” he murmurs. It’s the softest tone that he’s ever used with Sylvain.

Before Sylvain can say anything else, Felix walks away again. Sylvain watches him leave the room in the mirror’s reflection. The door shuts, and Sylvain closes his eyes and groans even louder. Sylvain succeeds in bottling up the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest by the time Felix returns.

Sylvain’s body is going to hate him in the morning, but he’ll just have to get better at warm-ups. Sylvain isn’t going to give up Felix’s smiles for anything.

-

After two weeks, they’ve finished _Scene 1: Christmas Tree_ without going over-time. They haven’t had to stay any longer than the time they’ve allotted — at least, Sylvain hasn’t. He doesn’t actually know when Felix leaves.He decides to ask on a whim if Felix wants a ride.

“I’m okay,” he replies. Felix doesn’t look up from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the ground. He stares at his notebook, scrutinizing the formations they’ve drawn together: the dancers move from their pyramid formation to three groups of four before ending the number with two groups of four.

Sylvain stays in the doorway, watching. It’s late November, where the weather is the terrible middle child between October fall and December winter. It gets dark at 4pm and it rains too much. Felix doesn’t seem the type to enjoy walking home in the rain.

Felix sighs. Staring up at Sylvain again with a wrinkle between his brows, he snaps, “I don’t need you to worry about me. I just want to figure out the transitions for the opening.”

The transitions, or how the dancers will get to their formations on stage. Sylvain usually worries about them at the last minute, and he ends up telling the kids to just crouch low and run. Somehow, he doubts Felix will appreciate that suggestion.

He glances at the window again. Daylight is already seeping away. He could go out to a nice bar and pretend for a few hours that he’s not about to lose his job. Or he could stay here with Felix in the cold dance studio and they figure out how to shuffle tiny children across the stage without letting them run into each other. He surprises himself when he drops his bag on the ground, and sits next to Felix.

Felix squints suspiciously at him. “What are you doing?”

“We’re a team, remember?” he says, leaning closer to inspect the notepad scribbles. Felix tenses. “We’re supposed to trade ideas.”

He expects to be yelled at, just like every time before. Instead, Felix mutters, “...Just don’t be stupid.”

It’s tight-lipped acceptance, but Sylvain will take it. He laughs softly, “Glad to hear that you value my opinion, Felix.”

Sylvain might be imagining things again, but he swears Felix laughs too.

-

Sylvain [8:20pm]: hey felix! i came up with some choreography for this section!

Sylvain [8:20pm]: [video.mp4] sent

Felix 🐱 [8:26pm]: Why are you only in a Towel

Sylvain [8:26pm]: because i’m a hardworking instructor who practices choreography during a twenty minute shower

Felix 🐱 [8:32pm]: Why do you shower for so long

Sylvain [8:32pm]: shampoo and conditioner

Sylvain [8:33pm] and then body wash as a special treat

Felix 🐱 [8:33pm]: They sell those separately?

Sylvain [8:35pm]: felix.

-

Felix would not accept anything less of a perfect ballet performance of the Pas de Deux. What Sylvain has originally interpreted as a short piece was actually five parts consisting of the entrée (the beginning), adagio (the duet), the first variation, the second variation, and the coda (the end).

He let Felix do whatever he wanted. Sylvain had no intention of involving himself in that delicate process, but Felix approached him on November 20th with a hesitant expression.

“I’ll need a partner for the Adagio,” Felix says through gritted teeth, like it’s the worst thing he’s ever had to admit. “As the knight, all you have to do is just follow my lead and not drop me on my ass.”

Sylvain hums. “You sure it’s not too late for my Maroon 5 choreography?”

Felix ignores him, and pulls out his phone. The old iPhone has so many cracks that Sylvain is sure Felix throws it at the wall every night before he sleeps as a bedtime routine. “Due to your inexperience, I found a video on YouTube for us to watch. I’ll need you to study the form of the knight before we start.”

Sylvain nods, and obediently leans in closer. He squints at the video through the cracks. He makes out two figures on a dark stage, as well as a very important third performer.

“Did anybody tell the dude about his huge bulge before he went on stage?” he asks.

“Sylvain. Focus.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m very focused.”

Sylvain respects the art of ballet. It requires skill, technique, and discipline — there’s nothing quite like seeing Felix rotate like a spinning top.

This particular dance seems to be a lot of walking, standing, and sensual tension. Sylvain is tempted to make another comment, but he won’t squander his chance at being allowed to dance a duet with Felix.

It feels like this dance is twenty minutes too long by the time it ends. All Sylvain got from the video is that he should stand behind Felix and hold his waist.

“Got it?” Felix asks.

“Er, yeah,” he lies. “I think so.”

Felix grabs Sylvain by the wrist, and pulls him into the middle of the dance studio. He blindly follows, allowing Felix to rearrange him in whatever position that he wants.

“First,” he orders, “you’ll need to hold my arm as I spin. Walk around me. Once you’re behind me, hold my waist and help me pirouette.”

He nods. _Hold Felix’s arm, walk around him, and then hold his waist while he balances all of his body weight on just his toes like it isn’t the most agonizing thing on Earth. Got it._

Felix nods, and gracefully goes en pointe and lifts his left leg up. His legs form a perfect ninety-degree angle, and Sylvain nearly forgets to lend his arm until Felix clears his throat. He expects Felix to use him to balance, but his hands barely touch Felix’s arm. He walks in a slow, careful circle as Felix spins.

He’s close enough to see the strands that are falling out of Felix’s bun. He maneuvers his hands carefully to Felix’s waist. He promptly malfunctions, because 1) Felix’s waist is so small and 2) Felix fits perfectly in his hands.

“Sylvain,” Felix snaps.

“Huh?”

“Spin me.”

Sylvain blinks.

Felix has not moved from his position en pointe. His expression grows colder with every passing second. Sylvain’s hands are on his waist, and he is overwhelmed by thoughts. Was Felix’s waist always this small? Or is it because of the way Sylvain’s hands fit around him?

“Are you even trying to work with me here?” Felix snaps.

“Yeah, no – it’s just – ” _You never let me touch you like this before, and it’s a lot to handle._ “I’ve never done anything like this before. You’re really good.”

“I know,” Felix replies, unphased. He gently lowers himself down from his toes, and Sylvain forces himself to let go. “Would it be easier if I showed you?”

Sylvain might actually implode if he holds Felix again, so he nods.

They go through the routine again, but Felix is the knight this time. He pulls Sylvain into the dance positions and explains what Sylvain should be doing when it’s time to switch roles again. He is thorough, clear, and doesn’t waste a single breath on anything unnecessary. It’s too bad Sylvain’s brain is a puddle from Felix’s touch.

Logically, he knows it’s just a dance routine. Dance is all about intimacy, trust, and believing that your dance troupe is going to be there when the music stops playing. Still, his heart doesn’t know that, and it’s ruining everything for him right now.

The Pas de Deux ends with the woman en pointe while the knight stands behind her as they brandish a pose towards the audience. When Sylvain looks in the mirror, his face is flushed. He notices Felix’s smug expression too.

“Do you understand?” Felix asks.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and his voice cracks. He clears his throat, and immediately crosses the room to put any sort of distance between them.

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Are you ready for the second attempt, then?”

“Uh,” Sylvain starts. “I actually need to go to the washroom.”

Before Felix can give him a snarky remark, Sylvain flees the studio. He takes the long route to the bathrooms. He furiously splashes himself in the face with cold sink water. Sylvain stares at his wet face in the mirror until his blush settles down, and when he returns, they do the routine perfectly in one try.

-

It’s November 27th now, and they’ve made about six hundred dollars from the chocolate sales. The donation page is looking sparse, but Sylvain manages to convince an ex-girlfriend to accept his invitation to the Facebook event, so they can be thankful for the little victories.

When the kids ask how much more until they reach their goal, he flashes a smile and tells them to focus on their routine. He thinks that the older kids have caught on, but it’s enough to fool the younger ones. Sylvain doesn’t think he’s quite ready to accept reality either. He tries to stay positive – for the kids, at least.

He promised them that when the Christmas show is an absolute success, they will return to a new dance studio with actual heating next year. The theatre manager would have to fulfill his request.

Felix seems to agree, because during their lunch break, he proclaims, “My ass is frozen.”

Sylvain doesn’t make a joke about warming it up for him. It’s too easy, and he thinks he might get killed for it.

Felix stabs the piece of chicken in his lunch box, and shoves it into his mouth. “Do you think we can steal one of the couches from the staff room?”

“Felix!” Sylvain gasps. “The studio is too small for the couch. The space heater, on the other hand, is definitely doable.”

Several minutes of bickering later, Sylvain and Felix manage to steal the space heater. They plug it in, and sit down on the floor with their backs towards it. Sylvain begins to slowly massage his thighs, still sore from the warmups. Felix continues to eat his chicken and rice lunch. The Michael Buble Christmas Album is playing faintly in the background.

“What are you going to do if this doesn’t work?” Felix asks.

Sylvain tilts his head towards him, and grins. “Having second thoughts already?”

Felix stabs at his chicken aggressively. “Shut up.”

He laughs. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Maybe, I’ll beg my dad to let me work as a secretary at his definitely evil corporation?”

“Sylvain.” No one ever says his name like Felix does; he can just hear the way his tongue curls around the syllables. Felix has said his name so many times this past month that it almost feels like Sylvain has been hearing it his whole life.

“I really don’t know, Felix,” he repeats. “I was kind of depending on being a young and sexy dancer for my whole life. I dropped out of college for this.”

Sylvain tries to steer the conversation away from his family history, and asks, “How about you? Got a corrupt family business too?”

Felix snorts. “Not exactly. My father is some big deal when it comes to computer engineering. I never cared about the family business, but I didn’t have any better ideas for my future at the time.”

“So, why ballet?” Sylvain asks. He wants to know all the steps it took for Felix to end up here in their dance studio. “Don’t tell me it was the tutus.”

“Mind your own business,” Felix snaps.

“You can say you liked the tutus, Felix,” he teases. “I can be trusted to keep a secret.”

Felix scowls. “I’m not some shallow skirt-chaser. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to me!” Sylvain exclaims.

In the time they’ve spent together, Felix is still just as impatient when they first met. However, Felix is now willing to indulge Sylvain more than ever before – and Sylvain is going to get as many details from him as he can if everything goes to shit.

“Fine,” Felix concedes. “I took ballet lessons as a child, and when my brother died, I returned to the dance studio. I decided to pursue professional dance when I was 16 years old.”

“Oh,” Sylvain says. It was definitely _not_ the tutus, then. “I’m sorry, Felix,”

“Whatever,” Felix huffs. He’s staring at the wall, away from Sylvain. “I don’t need your pity.”

Everything goes quiet. Sylvain can’t help but think about young Felix – sixteen years old, filled with grief and determination – dancing alone. Sylvain would’ve been eighteen at the time. He thinks about what would’ve happened if they knew each other then. He doesn’t think he would’ve stopped Felix, but he would’ve, at least, given Felix a ride to the dance studio. Maybe, Sylvain would’ve even stayed with him.

“Listen, it happened a long time ago,” Felix sighs. “You didn’t hurt my feelings or anything.”

Sylvain is someone who can mask his emotions easily. It’s surprising that Felix can see through it clearly. “I know. It’s just that – ”

He struggles to find the right thing to say. The reality is that Sylvain wasn’t there for Felix, as much as he wishes he could’ve comforted him during those times. And yet, it doesn’t really matter, because Felix didn’t need him. Felix kept living. He kept dancing.

“– you never fail to amaze me, Felix.”

Felix squints at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Sylvain says. He decides it’s best to move on now, so Felix doesn’t get too uncomfortable. “So, does that mean you performed with a ballet company?”

“Of course,” he huffs. “I got into a professional ballet company when I was 17.”

Sylvain nods. “So, what happened? Too feisty for them?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “I had to retire. I didn’t rest when I was injured, like I should’ve.”

The imagery of injured Felix makes Sylvain’s heart hurt more than he thought it would. Felix is always so strong that he thinks seeing him crumple on stage would be an absolute nightmare.

“What kind of ballet dancer retires when they’re only twenty-four?” Felix spits out bitterly. “It was pathetic.”

“Hey, at least you got to perform with a troupe,” Sylvain says lightly. “My team broke up before we ever got to travel anywhere.”

“I used to dance at a local studio,” he continues. The studio was not as prestigious as Felix’s ballet troupe, but they were invited for city events occasionally. “We were all college students looking for an excuse to procrastinate. I was the idiot who dropped out for it, while everyone decided to go back to reality.”

“Why didn’t you join another studio?” Felix asks.

Compared to Felix, he didn’t really have a good excuse. His studio was still audition-based, thus requiring some skill, and if he tried, he could’ve gotten into a bigger and better studio. Sylvain didn’t even think about trying, really – at the time, the next logical step was to just do whatever was the opposite of what his family wanted.

“I think I was scared,” he admits. “I always grew up with expectations forced upon me, and I didn’t want that with a dance studio.”

He laughs. “I guess that makes me the pathetic one, huh?”

Sylvain doesn’t know what he expects Felix to say. He’s expecting him to scold Sylvain or tell him that he’s stupid. Instead he answers in a voice so warm that Sylvain can wrap himself in it, “I know who you are, Sylvain. And you’re not pathetic.”

Before Sylvain can reply, he’s interrupted by Felix again, who clarifies, “You’re lazy and insatiable – but you’re not pathetic.”

Sylvain snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, and playfully bumps Felix while standing up. The lunch break was supposed to end fifteen minutes ago, but the studio chill is unforgiving, even with the space heater. Sylvain holds out an outstretched hand towards Felix. “Let’s freestyle a little bit. I’m way too cold, and I’m tired of your awful warm-ups.”

Felix frowns, and leans away. “I don’t freestyle.”

Freestyling is dancing without choreography – a skill that is rare among beginners and a task that is still daunting for professional dancers. Sylvain always gravitated towards freestyle the most compared to the rest of his previous dance team. It made him feel free.

“Come on,” he says. He changes the music to one of his class’ freestyle playlists. “It’s an essential skill for every dancer to know.”

Felix scrambles to his feet, and says, “I don’t even know this song, Sylvain.”

“It’s just for fun, Felix,” Sylvain laughs. “You wouldn’t be dancing if you didn’t think it was fun, yeah?”

Felix frowns.

“I’ll go first,” Sylvain volunteers. He knows the song well, and his body moves with the rhythm buried deep in his subconscious. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Felix back up to give Sylvain room and he’s staring at the ground in concentration.

Sylvain decides to let go of his traditional freestyle form. He pirouettes, and does it terribly on purpose. His disgraceful attempt makes Felix laugh, and it’s like a late November miracle. He keeps trying, so he can see Felix’s smile.

The song ends, and the speakers begin playing a new song, sensual with a slow tempo. Sylvain stops dancing, and he sees Felix immediately tense when he realizes that it’s his turn.

“I’ve never done this before,” Felix says. His voice is sharp.

“You can do whatever you want,” he encourages gently. “It’s okay.”

Felix still doesn’t move. Sylvain crosses the space between them, and asks, “Do you want to just follow me?”

He nods.

It’s one of the freestyle practices that he’s taught his kids, otherwise known as the mirror exercise. Sylvain lifts his hands up and Felix does the same. Their palms are facing towards each other as if separated by a glass pane. It’s not exactly dancing, but it’s movement without expectations, which is what freestyle is all about.

Felix visibly relaxes after he’s been given clear instructions. He follows Sylvain’s movements with endearing determination. They start slow before picking up in speed and complexity. Wherever Sylvain is, Felix is there by his side. They spin around each other like celestial bodies in orbit. They’re not dancing to the music anymore; along the way, they’ve lost themselves in each other’s rhythm instead.

It goes on for minutes, hours, years, because there’s no way this is the same cold dance studio. Right now, in this moment, the only beings in this universe are Felix and himself.

“What do you think of open style now?” Sylvain can’t stop grinning.

Felix rolls his eyes. “I never said I hated open style.” They both spin, and return with palms flush against each other. Every step was a step for two – and he wonders how he was ever able to get through life without Felix by his side. “I’m better at open style than you’ll ever be at ballet.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Sylvain laughs.

Felix finally pulls away from him, and Sylvain instinctively follows until he realizes they’re not playing the game anymore. Felix is grinning savagely, and Sylvain feels his heart stutter within his chest. He can see the familiar fire – the flames of hunger – in Felix again.

“I’m going to teach you how to fucking dougie, Sylvain.”

Felix does The Dougie to Soulja Boy Tell Em’s hit song, Crank That (Soulja Boy), and Sylvain finally accepts reality: he’s in love with Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

-

_“Hey, Sylvain. When’re you coming?”_

“Uh…” The person on the phone isn’t the one he is supposed to be meeting in twenty minutes. He doesn’t need more distractions when he’s trying to figure out if he should slick back his hair or leave it be.

_“Sylvain, you promised you that you would show up to my hockey game if I bought a ticket to your dance show –”_

“I know, and you’re better than Saint Nicholas himself, ‘grid,” he reassures. Sylvain slicks back his hair, and it’s a terrible idea. He desperately tries to get back to its natural bedhead state. “When I’m jobless, I’ll have all the time to go to your hockey games.”

_“Oh, whatever. It’s just a practice game. It’ll be over in twenty minutes anyway.”_

Fuck, he’s already out of cologne. He scrambles around his bathroom, and viciously rips open a new box of cologne. Ingrid clears her throat, and he remembers that he’s having a conversation. “That’s my Ingrid,” he says.

There’s a low hum on the other side of the phone. _“So, who’s the girl?”_

“Hm?” Does he have time to shower? No, of course not, he was supposed to leave ten minutes ago and –

_“You know, the girl you’re going on a date with and who you’ve decided to prioritize over your best friend?”_

“Ingrid – ”

_“Best friend for fifteen years!”_

“I’m meeting up with Felix,” he says. “We have to go buy the Christmas show costumes for the kids.”

_“Seriously? You’re ditching me for errands?”_

“We’re staying for the Christmas market downtown too,” he says. “‘Tis the season, and all that.”

_“I thought you didn’t like Christmas.”_

He doesn’t, but he’s not going to admit that it was just an excuse to spend more time with Felix. So, he replies, “I’m a changed man, Ingrid. The Nutcracker revived my broken Christmas spirit.”

_“So, you are going on a date, then.”_

“What did you say, Ingrid? I can’t hear you.”

_“Sylvain, don’t do this to me.”_

“Oh, no, I think we’re – I think we’re breaking up – ”

_“Sylvain Jose Gautier!”_

He hangs up. Ingrid will forgive him, probably.

-

Now that Sylvain knows he’s in love with Felix, Sylvain has to stamp down the butterflies in his stomach each time they see each other. He smooths out his trench coat one last time before approaching Felix, waiting for Sylvain at the costume store’s entrance.

“Took you long enough,” he comments. Felix and his outfit – a toque, some black jeans and a sherpa denim jacket – is illuminated by a nearby streetlamp. His outfit is more dressed up than his hoodies and gym shorts, and Sylvain feels a little better about spending an hour on picking an outfit for today’s date. Shopping trip. Whatever.

“Would you be less mad if I said it was traffic?” Sylvain grins.

Felix hums. The mid-December air is cold and crisp. He can see where frost has nipped at Felix’s nose. “I’ll think about it,” he says, before already walking away. Sylvain follows him.

Due to their non-existent budget, they are buying the costumes with their own money. Sylvain’s bought costumes for his dance kids for the Halloween show previously. He’s already gained a reputation at every cheap costume store in the city. Charming the cashiers into giving him a discount is an art form he’s perfected.

It’s easy enough to take all of the generic red and green sweaters in the costume store. On his way to the cashier, he stumbles upon a sad lion plushie. He thinks that the lion probably used to be a blue colour, but has faded into a somber grey. The lion’s mane is tangled, and he’s missing an eye. The lion was either loved until it fell apart, or fed to someone’s dog.

From behind him, Sylvain hears a snarky remark: “That’s an ugly bear.”

“Felix!” he gasps, turning around. Felix is standing behind him with dresses and hair-ties. “It’s obviously a lion.”

He frowns. “Who would want this piece of garbage?”

“Listen, he is rough around the edges, but I’m sure he has a great personality.”

“That’s stupid,” Felix scoffs.

Sylvain smiles. “I’m sure you’d like him once you got to know him.”

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Did you pay already, or what?”

The cashier recognizes Sylvain. He doesn’t remember her name, but she lights up when she sees Sylvain. It’s easy enough to fall into some banter with shallow compliments. He could obtain a 50% off discount if he gets in a few more winks, but he stops prematurely because he can feel Felix’s glare burning a hole in the back of his head.

When they leave the store, Felix scoffs, “That was a waste of time.”

“Felix, Felix,” he sighs. “Are you forgetting that I got us a discount?”

“I could’ve gotten us a discount in less time,” he grumbles.

They make one last stop at a specialty dance store for pointe shoes. Felix is efficient, and he does manage to get a discount in less time than Sylvain did at the costume store. He doesn’t know how. All he knows is that when he looked up from his phone again, Felix was waving around his receipt triumphantly with a 40% mark-down as proof.

The Christmas Market is a couple blocks away from their current location. They’re still a block away when they hear the siren call of Mariah Carey, followed by a groan from Felix. Sylvain begins to whistle along with the music.

Sylvain still doesn’t care much about the Christmas holiday. Sure, every Christmas song is an absolute banger, but there’s way too much emotional baggage around the holiday for him to fully enjoy it. He spends Christmas with Ingrid and Dimitri, but the ghost of not having spent a family Christmas in years still haunts his subconscious anyway. He’s not even going to talk about his weird Catholic guilt either.

Even so, he can still appreciate the Christmas Market and its aesthetic perfection. Everything is covered in stringed fairy lights; red, green, and gold swarm his peripheral vision and it’s not unwelcomed. There’s a hint of hot cocoa and peppermint in the air. Along the streets, there are holiday stalls, glowing with wonder and filled with baked goods. Nearly every stall garnered a small crowd enraptured by its wonder.

He takes a moment to glance at Felix. When Sylvain suggested visiting the Christmas market, he didn’t really expect Felix to say yes. It seems like everything that Felix hated about Christmas all in one street – the fake lights, the pop music, and the sweets.

However, Felix looks content. His shoulders are relaxed in a way that Sylvain has only seen during his morning stretches. The fairy lights bounce off his dark hair and pale skin. He looks radiant.

Felix turns, and his face immediately drops into a scowl, as if he abhors the idea of showing any kind of joy in front of Sylvain. “What are you looking at?”

Sylvain tells the truth. “You.”

Felix opens his mouth, and then closes it. His gaze drifts off of Sylvain to something behind him. Several emotions flit across his face until it settles on something indecipherable. “What is that?”

Sylvain looks behind him. He sees the biggest Crocs store that has ever existed. With a disgusted grimace, he answers, “Humanity’s worst creation.”

Felix, entranced by the monster, walks past him, and into the belly of the beast.

Sylvain groans. “Oh god, Felix.”

-

“You can’t do this to me, Felix,” Sylvain murmurs.

Felix walks around the store in his black Crocs to check their durability. While hopping up and down, he says, “They’re comfortable.”

“I’ll have you know that I am extremely uncomfortable. I don’t think I’ve ever been more uncomfortable in my life, actually.”

Felix ignores him, looking at himself in the mirror. He looks pleased with himself – and fine, the shoes look okay on him, but nobody can ever look good in Crocs.

When Felix puts away the shoes, he doesn’t immediately go to the cashier. With a groan, Sylvain says, “Don’t tell me you want more.”

“They’re on sale. Buy one pair, get another pair half-off.” Felix disappears into the aisles while Sylvain watches him from where he’s seated on the bench helplessly.

Felix comes back with a hideously green box in his arms. Sylvain doesn’t know what terrible monstrosity he chose until he opens it.

“Camouflage?” Sylvain cries out.

-

It’s 10:00pm when they finally leave the Christmas Market. Felix doesn’t buy any more Crocs besides the two pairs, and they wander around the street for the next few hours. It didn’t feel like aimless wandering, and the lights only got brighter with each passing moment at night.

Sylvain finds out that Felix planned on taking transit back home, and he offers Felix a ride back home. His 2010 Honda Civic is a dear old friend who’s been with him for nearly seven years now. It was with him for his high-school graduation, his road-trips, and his risque escapades. Now, it’ll get to experience Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

“Front-seat passengers choose the music,” Sylvain says, giving the AUX cord to Felix. He’s only heard Felix listen to their show playlist and classical music, so whether he listens to anything else, is a mystery. He’s expecting him to put on their show playlist, and tell Sylvain to practice choreography by imagining it in his head.

The music finally starts when Sylvain’s driven them out of the parking lot. He blinks, and looks at Felix. “...Is this My Chemical Romance?”

Felix frowns, sinking deeper into the passenger seat. “You said I could choose the music.”

“No, it’s just – ” He knows his mouth is stretching into the biggest grin right now. _You’re the most perfect person in the world._

“Fine, I’ll fucking _change_ it – ”

“No, no,” Sylvain interrupts. “It’s perfect.”

Felix looks at him warily, but relaxes back into his seat again. They continue down the dark highway while his radio sings about fathers, sons, and parades. He knows that Felix is trying to hide it from him, but Sylvain can see his fingers drum against the window sill.

“Hey Felix,” he starts. He lowers the volume of the music until it’s a low hum. “Why did you say yes?”

Felix doesn’t falter. “Why did I say yes to the Christmas Market? Or why did I say yes to The Nutcracker with you?”

He exhales. “Both.”

“I don’t know,” Felix replies. He’s looking out the window, but the darkness reflects his face like a mirror. Sylvain can see his expressions clearly displayed on the glass surface. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Sylvain huffs out a laugh, and Felix’s reflection smiles. “Yeah. We are.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the drive back to Felix’s place, but they keep the music at a low hum. It’s just quiet enough they can hear the cars drive by. It’s just quiet enough to worry about Felix hearing Sylvain think about how much he wants to hold hands right now.

When they finally arrive at Felix’s apartment, he turns the radio off. The silence is deafening. Sylvain doesn’t want Felix to leave yet – because it’s five days until the show, and if he doesn’t say it now, he’ll never get to say it.

Still staring ahead, Sylvain asks, “Do you remember when you asked me what I’d do if this doesn’t work?”

Felix nods.

“I thought about it a lot, really. Compared to you, I just stumbled into this career by accident. For a long time, I kept doing this because I thought it was easy and it pissed off my parents.”

“You’re a better person, Felix,” he says, turning to him. “You’re not afraid, and you dance like the world is ending and – ” _It makes me want to follow you into the fire._ “ – it’s amazing.”

Sylvain lets out a shaky exhale. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when everything goes to shit. I just want to keep dancing with you, Felix Fraldarius.”

Felix tears his gaze away from his feet to stare at Sylvain. His expression is unreadable when he speaks, but it is ushered in a soft tone. “Is that a promise?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain smiles. “I think so.”

Felix looks away again. His brow is furrowed, and his clenched fists won’t stop shaking. “They say that dancers die twice,” he murmurs. “When I stop dancing, I will experience my first death.”

Sylvain understands. He finds himself distracted by Felix during the studio’s early hours – by his burning flame. Once he dies his first death, the world would feel it. Sylvain could not bear to live in a world so cold.

He takes a chance. He grabs Felix’s hand, and his gaze turns back to Sylvain. For the first time, his fiery expression is focused on Sylvain instead of the dance mirrors. Can Felix see his foolish heart and all his mistakes? Does Felix know how he rekindled Sylvain’s dying star?

“Felix Fraldarius,” he whispers. “It’d be an honour to die by your side.”

When their mouths meet, Sylvain’s first thought is that Felix’s lips are really soft. Then, Felix is draping his arms around his shoulders and Sylvain can’t think of anything else except the heat between their mouths. His hands scramble to hold him close, and they end up resting on his waist. He idly runs his hands down his sides, and Felix sighs into his mouth.

They kiss and kiss until Sylvain’s probably over the 20-minute limit for his parking space. He forces himself to break the kiss, and Felix lets out a frustrated groan.

“Don’t go.” Felix’s breath is hot against his mouth, and it takes everything for Sylvain not to pull him down for another kiss.

Sylvain laughs deliriously. “Felix, there’s nothing in this world that could take me from you.”

Felix gives him one last wet kiss before dragging him out of the car. They stumble and steal kisses in the dark until they somehow crash into his studio apartment as a mess of limbs and gasping mouths. He doesn’t need to chase warmth in stage lights anymore.

-

December 20th is here. The kids are going on-stage in an hour and they have 4,786.70 dollars. This includes the donation page, the chocolate sales, and the pre-ordered tickets. Sylvain tries not to think about the numbers too hard, but they’re definitely in the back of his mind, as he runs around to make sure everything goes well.

After checking that everyone is here for the fifth time in a row, he tells the first performers to warm-up and be back-stage in ten minutes. They all shout excitedly while jumping and down. He ruffles several of their tiny heads. The atmosphere in the studio has been electric, even after hours of waiting for the audience to arrive.

God, he’s really going to miss them – even if they refuse to wear deodorant. He excuses himself from the studio to leave the building and breathe in something other than sweat and excitement.

Leaning against the wall, he sighs.

“Sylvain.”

Felix is standing in the doorway. It’s the first time that he got to see him today amidst the preparation. His cheeks are flushed from presumably running around and checking on his own kids.

He smiles. “Hey, Felix.”

Felix leaves his spot from the doorway and leans next to him. For a few moments, no one says anything, and then they both sigh. Their breaths exit their mouths and entangle in the air before disappearing.

“So, this is it,” Sylvain murmurs.

“Yeah.”

“You know, whatever happens tonight,” he starts. “I’m proud of the kids.”

“...Yeah,” Felix says. “Me too.”

It’s five minutes until the show starts, and Sylvain really should be back-stage with his kids, but he wastes a minute to stare at Felix. He wastes two more by kissing him.

-

Dance performances are strange, because it takes hundreds of hours to prepare even if most people are only on stage for seven minutes. Most shows are only a few hours long. There can’t be any regrets, or second thoughts. Performing is showcasing blood, sweat, and tears. It’s a proclamation.

Dancers must go on stage, and they must say, “This is everything that I am.”

Sylvain is not on that stage tonight. He is not performing and not baring his soul out to the world, but his efforts are being translated through the movements of his students. It’s his soul, but it has been reinvented, repurposed, and reborn. As the show continues on, he can clearly see those days in the dance studio with Felix through the muscle memories of his students.

Annette and Ashe are the perfect MCs for the event. Honestly, Sylvain is just happy that they even volunteered to help with the show. It’s less work for him, and he is pleased to hear the audience’s cheers each time they reappear on stage. There’s no one in this world who could reasonably hate the two of them. In fact, it must be impossible. They nearly outshine the spot-lights with their smiles.

Throughout the show, Sylvain and Felix stay just behind the curtains in old director chairs. They wish each act good luck, and when they return, they congratulate them for a great performance. Sylvain makes sure to remember to squeeze Felix’s hand occasionally for reassurance. He gets a squeeze back each time.

The show ends with more than two people giving a standing ovation. His chest is filled with indescribable joy when he sees the kids’ faces glow with pride. He hopes that they keep dancing into the future. They deserve another chance to shine for an audience.

“The show may be over, but please stay seated!” Annette exclaims. “We have the Open Style Choreography instructor and choreographer, Sylvain, with some things he’d like to say!”

He winks at Felix. “That’s my cue.”

Sylvain doesn’t stay to see his reaction, but he knows Felix is rolling his eyes. The audience starts cheering again when Sylvain steps onto stage, but the stage lights obscure his vision, so the crowd is nothing but black figures and voices. If he can guess, he’s pretty sure that his entire Catholic school is here, probably some of his exes, and lastly, people who actually care about the dying performance arts.

He takes the microphone from Ashe, and turns the charm up to 150. “Thank you for coming to this little theatre’s production of The Nutcracker. Your generous donations are going towards a great cause – otherwise known as my career.”

“I’ve been an instructor for three years at this theatre. In those three years, I think I’ve seen more spiders here than actual paying audience members. So, tonight has been really special for me. For us.”

The next part of the speech might be the hardest part of the night. This is his proclamation. He inhales shakily, and pushes onward.

“I’m also going to take a moment to say thank you to my dance partner and the co-dance instructor, Felix Hugo Fraldarius. He helped choreograph half of the pieces you saw on stage today, and he’s – well, amazing. So, please give a round of applause for Felix too.”

The crowd erupts into another applause, and he glances at Felix. He is standing in the shadows, just out of the audience’s view, and he looks like he wants to either tease or kiss Sylvain but hasn’t decided yet.

He turns to the crowd, and shouts, “Good night, and happy holidays!”

-

“For you.”

“Oh, Dedue,” Sylvain coos. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Dedue doesn’t answer, and just hands him the flower bouquet. The reds and oranges of the flower arrangement are undoubtedly beautiful, and the blue ribbon is the iconic symbol of Dedue’s flower-shop bouquets.

The audience has trickled out of the theatre, and only Sylvain, Ingrid, Dimitri and Dedue remain. He hasn’t seen Felix since his speech, and he hopes that it wasn’t too much. He would like to give him a goodbye kiss, at least.

“It was a wonderful show, Sylvain,” Dimitri exclaims. Sylvain can still see remnants of that young boy from childhood whenever his eyes crinkle from happiness. “I am impressed by your skill as a leader and a choreographer. It is quite different from my college’s dance classes – ah, what did you call it?”

“It’s called Zumba, Dimitri. You go to Zumba classes.”

“Ah, yes,” he says. “You’re welcome to join me and Dedue any time, Sylvain.”

Dedue’s face moves by a miniscule. Sylvain has known him long enough to recognize his disgruntled expression. “I’ll think about it, ‘mitri,” he replies. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t do anything special for your birthday this year.”

“I would have to disagree,” Dimitri smiles. “This has been quite a special night.”

“If you think tonight was special, wait until you see the return of Sexy Elf Sylvain.”

“And, on that note, I’m leaving,” Ingrid says, pocketing her phone. Sylvain still needs to ask if that date ever went well. “Great job on the show, again.”

“Oh! Is it already so late?” Dimitri glances at his watch. “Dedue and I will be taking our leave now too, then.”

Sylvain makes sure to give Dimitri one final birthday hug before he leaves with Dedue. As they walk away, their body language speaks to how much they want to hold hands, but they are too embarrassed to do so. He wonders if Dimitri and Dedue truly think they’re subtle.

Ah, right. He needs to find Felix.

-

Sylvain finds him quite easily.

He leans against the door-frame, and takes his time admiring Felix. He’s allowed to do that now, and it makes him giddy. “I thought I might find you here.”

Felix had pulled out the ballet bar to practice his plies in the mirror. The dance studio was empty, except for some garbage the kids left behind and Felix’s bag. “Did you plan on making that speech?” he asks.

“Only the last part,” he says. “Everything else was improv.”

He huffs. “You didn’t have to say that, you know.”

“I know. I wanted to.” Sylvain grins. “You’re my partner.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Felix scoffs.

“You love it.”

“Shut up.”

Sylvain watches Felix – brilliant and beautiful – dance along the ballet bars. The world awaits outside this dance studio. Sylvain and Felix will have to make decisions, depending on the results of tonight. The thought doesn’t scare Sylvain as much as he thought it would. Only Felix could provide him with so much courage.

Felix finishes his last set of plies, and sets the ballet bar aside. He slings his gym bag over his shoulder, and blows a strand out of his face. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Sylvain says. “You forgot something.”

When Felix raises his eyebrow, Sylvain takes the chance to lean down and deliver a quick peck on the lips. He pulls back with a grin to see Felix staring at him with wide eyes.

Felix recovers from shock quickly, and glares at Sylvain. It’s less effective with his blush. “You’re such an idiot,” he mutters. Then, he pulls Sylvain down for another kiss with increased heat. The kiss makes Sylvain’s head spin and his body burn with excitement. He won’t ever have to worry about being cold ever again.

-

To: Gilbert Pronislav, Theatre Manager, Fhirdiad Community Theatre  
From: Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dance Instructor, Fhirdiad Community Theatre  
Sent: Fri 12/25 9:18am  
SUBJECT: The Nutcracker Fundraiser

Gilbert,

I hope you’re having a fine day today. I just wanted to give you an update on The Nutcracker Fundraiser. The Nutcracker show raised 2150 dollars, but we received overwhelming support on our donation page. In fact, this morning, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd donated 6,000 dollars, which helped us surpass our goal. Don’t you just love a Christmas miracle, Gilbert?

Also, I don’t know what happened to the staff room’s space heater. You should stop looking for it. I have a feeling that it’s a lost cause. Felix doesn’t check his email, so you should stop asking him too.

I’ll be looking forward to seeing you and everyone else in the new year. Oh, and Merry Christmas. You could say that this good news is our Christmas gift to you. Feel free to return the favour with a newly renovated dance studio.

Cheers,  
Sylvain.

**Author's Note:**

> this sylvix fic holds a bit more sentimental value compared to my other works, because it's based on my own experiences as a dancer! so i had a lot fun writing this fic because i was also reminiscing about the past too.
> 
> thank you for reading! every kudos and comment is appreciated. <3 happy holidays!
> 
> my twitter is [@totoromantic](https://twitter.com/totoromantic/status/1340749642867253249?s=20) hehe


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